Our Separate Ways
by Maya Perez
Summary: Prequel story covering how the Winchesters split 4 years before the pilot and the intervening time leading up to it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"See you tomorrow, _looser_!"

Sam sensed the wad of paper coming at him, but didn't try to dodge. It hit him on the side of the head then fell to the bus floor and rolled under one of the seats.

"You, Matthews, knock it off! Don't make me go back there!" Mr. Dools turned back around and sent Sam a pitying glance, pulling on the lever to open the bus door. "Sorry about that, kid."

"It's no big deal, Mr. Dools. I'm used to it." Sam gave him a smile he didn't feel and hurried down the bus's steps.

For two years Cory Matthews had decided Sam was his to pick on. For two years Sam had tried to figure out why, and was no closer to an answer now than he'd been then. He would have asked Dean about it, except he knew only too well that rather than explain, his brother would take it upon himself to give the kid a lesson and get him off Sam's back. If that was all there was to it, Sam could have taken care of it on his own when it started. He knew he could take Cory down in three seconds – but that wasn't the point. He wanted to _understand_. He wanted to know what it was about him that Cory didn't like, why he felt the need to pick on him. If he could somehow comprehend this, maybe he could change and fit in better.

Dean didn't care about any of that, what people thought or liked about him if anything. But then again his brother could make friends in two minutes flat.

Sam sighed kicking rocks off the shoulder as he followed the worn two-lane country road to their house.

In another week it wouldn't matter. He knew he'd already passed all his classes and that graduating was a mere formality. He was just counting the time until they turned him loose. Soon Cory Matthews would be nothing but a bothersome memory.

He stopped at the pebbled driveway to the Winchester home.

He snorted. Home – that was an overstatement. The one story house was only a temporary staying point, one their father chaffed at constantly -- as if having a place to call their own was somehow more of an impediment than a convenience. Hell, half the kids from school had lived in the same town and the same house all their lives! And his father balked at staying in the same place for two lousy years?

Of course this was all Sam's fault. He was the one wanting to go to school, he was the one who needed stability, a place to call theirs, at least according to Dean.

On the one hand Sam was very grateful for it, so maybe in some ways Dean was right. By staying here, he now had a couple of people he could actually call friends and whom he'd known for more than a week or two. Not just acquaintances you had fun with for a while, but people you could have relationships with, of whom you could say you actually knew their favorite color or food about.

But on the other hand, he sometimes resented it like hell. Every time their father complained about the distance he'd have to travel to a job, or how long it took to get back, the contortions he had to go through to make sure the rent and bills were paid with cash rather than the credit cards he scammed, so as not to create any flags – every single one of these was a criticism against the one he felt had forced this situation on him – Sam.

Dean insisted their father meant nothing by it, that he was just blowing off steam, but Sam knew better. He could tell by the way his father looked at him, by how he picked on every thing he did. Nothing was ever good enough. Nothing! As if wanting to be brought up like everybody else was bad!

But just like Cory Matthews, all this too would soon be but a bothersome memory.

He stepped over to the mailbox and checked to see if they got anything that day. The box was empty. Luckily for him, Dean didn't bother to check for the mail knowing he would. And his father, his father wasn't around enough to normally bother. This worked just fine for Sam.

There'd been a lot of mail going back and forth in the last few months he didn't want either of them to see. Dean wouldn't actually care about it one way or the other, but if he knew, Sam ran the risk his brother might inadvertently let something slip to their father, and that would not do.

With only a slight twinge of guilt, he closed the box.

He wasn't doing anything wrong -- far from it. He just wasn't sure his father would understand. And the last thing Sam wanted was another of his deeply disappointed looks. He'd had enough of those already to last him a lifetime. Only his father would accuse someone of failing the family for preferring to play soccer with friends instead of going out into the woods and learning how to shoot game with a bow. It had really come home during the last couple of years how truly twisted his father's priorities were. Heaven forbid you even dare to suggest it though.

The old rusting Ford his father scrounged up sometime back so they'd have a way to get around when he was gone wasn't in the driveway, so Dean wasn't home yet. Maybe Sam would get a chance to fill out a couple of more scholarship applications before his brother got back. While Councilor Davis' advice about going ahead and applying to everything he could think of was working out, he'd had to stagger the mailings, only sending out a few here and there, so there wouldn't be a major drain on the house fund for anyone to get suspicious about.

The ones he could fill out on the Internet he'd done from the library. The best thing was that on most of the forms, they assumed a parent's consent. It's not like anyone in their right mind wouldn't want their kid to get a scholarship and go to college – out in the normal world anyway. Plus the amount of questions on taxes, filings, and other stuff they asked, you couldn't really fake the info, so you had to get it from the parent. Again, only in a normal family. Sam had been the one filing bogus tax returns for the Winchesters for the last three years. His father had been more than happy for him and Dean to learn to forge his signature, too. More mundane things he could ditch on them to take care of that wouldn't drain away his father's attention from the ever-present hunt.

Sam didn't like all the sneaking around, but he hadn't been able to figure out any other way to do it. He'd prayed hard and often for alternatives, but nothing had come. Heck, the one time he'd approached the subject of college with his father a year ago, the man almost bust a vein and glowered at him for three days afterward. He hadn't left Sam any choice -- because he sure as hell wasn't staying here. Not to be ordered about for the rest of his life, and kept in the dark, like Dean. There was more to living than just hunting evil.

As he came close to the porch, Sam noticed some tracks on the grass off to the side of the house that hadn't been there that morning. With sudden settling dread, he ignored the front and followed the tracks around to the back of the house. Parked under a makeshift awning was the Impala. Their father was home. He was early. Sam hadn't expected him back for at least another couple of days.

Crap.

He wondered if Dean knew he was coming and hadn't told him. A little warning would have been nice. Not that it really would make any difference in the end, but still…

Sam hefted his backpack a little higher on his shoulder and went back to the front. He stood indecisively before the steps, considering whether to avoid a meeting, hiking back the couple of miles to the library and calling Dean from there to get him to pick him up later, or just going inside and getting things over with.

Hell, he had as much right to be here as their father did. And it was his turn to cook anyway. Swell.

He might as well check the lay of the land and then decide if it would be better to bail. Sam sent up a quick prayer then rose up the steps to the porch, feeling like a condemned man walking the green mile. He didn't understand why he and his father didn't get along any more than he understood why Cory Matthews picked on him. And he'd been working on _this_ problem for a lot longer than that of his schoolmate.

Sam pulled open the screen, flinching as it gave its usual screeching scream. He pushed the door in and slipped inside, making sure to ease the screen back into position rather than have it slam against the frame.

The living room with the beat up TV and second hand couch was empty. Sam put his backpack down, sighing with relief, the meeting put off for yet another few precious moments. That was when he noticed a wide shape fill in the doorway into the kitchen.

"Samuel Winchester, we need to have some words."

Spotting the dark look on his father's face and the open letter in his hand, Sam felt his stomach drop.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The moment he turned the rattling engine off, Dean heard Sam and their father yelling at each other. Oh shit, not again! He got out of the car, rubbing the back of his hand over his jaw as he listened to the raised voices, trying to evaluate how south this one was going. It sounded really bad.

Dean pulled the two bags of groceries out from the bed of the truck, but didn't make a move to head toward the porch.

The two-bedroom house was what they'd been tentatively able to call home for the last couple of years. The faded pale yellow with the orange trim made the wood house uglier than sin, but between that and the other needed repairs, rent was cheap.

It'd taken him a lot of talking over a long stretch of time to convince their Dad a stable place was what Sammy needed -- that it would be good for him, for his education and high school, to be able to stay in one place. Figured it was the closest to a normal life he could give his brother, for once he graduated, he was sure Dad expected Sammy to dive full time into hunting. And it didn't take a genius to figure out Sammy just wasn't all that into it. But what choice did they have? Even after all this time they were no closer to figuring out what killed their mother. And there was a lot of stuff out there hurting other people, and it needed killing. The Winchesters were more than qualified to do something about that.

Except instead of making things better for Sammy and hopefully between them all, somehow living here had only made things worse. Dad stayed out for longer and longer periods on hunts. Sammy had always questioned Dad or balked at things since he was ten, but with the chance to lay down roots, he acted as if he now had a choker around his neck and Dad was the one tightening it. They fought all the time, either one finding something to fault about the other. Nothing Dean did ever seemed to help, all he could do was try and mend fences whenever they got done. But it was getting harder and harder to do all the time. The two of them were too much alike, not that he'd ever point it out to either of them, not if he wanted to be alive afterwards.

Dean stared again in the direction of the house. The yelling wasn't growing any less.

He sighed. Guess he'd better quit stalling. Things were sounding worse if anything. And someone needed to be around to pick up the pieces.

He trumped up the steps, making as much noise as he could, hoping they'd take the hint. Might as well not have bothered. Even when he opened the screeching screen and then the door, the flow of hot words back and forth didn't waver in the least.

_"Why can't you just be happy for me?"_

Sam and Dad were facing each other in the middle of the small living room, fists at their sides, legs splayed, as if about to launch into an all out, no holds barred brawl. Dean had never quite seen them this wound up. This was really, really bad.

He kicked the door closed, making a wall shaking slam, but it was as if he didn't even exist.

"_Happy_? About what?" His father's voice dripped with venom. Dean had seen his father angry plenty of times and at plenty of people, but this was something else entirely – this time he was furious. "The fact my son took tests I didn't sign him up for? That he sent out applications behind my back? The fact he's trying to destroy his family?"

"It's not _like_ that, Dad!" Sam's voice cracked. He looked ready to spit nails too. Dean possessed no idea on what the hell set this off, but it must be something super awful.

"Then why don't you just explain it to me." His father's cold sledgehammer sarcasm made Dean wince. This had to stop.

He stepped forward, though survival instincts insisted it not be dead between them. "Sammy, Dad, come on, guys. Don't do this. What's the big deal?"

As his father's flaming stare turned his way, Dean realized he'd said totally the wrong thing.

"What's the _big deal_? This -- that's what!" He threw a paper and envelope at him.

With his hands full Dean couldn't catch them, so he was forced to put the bags down and reach for the items where they fell. Throwing a worried glance at his brother, he saw that Sam was shaking where he stood, as if barely restraining himself from doing their father violence. As he looked at his father, Dean realized he didn't appear all that much more in control. They were lit powder kegs on a timer and he couldn't read the clock. He grabbed the paper and envelope and stood back up.

The first thing he noticed was the seal on the upper right. It was for Stanford University. Dean glanced up from the paper, noticing that both his brother and father were staring at him now. He looked back down at the letter. It was a congratulations and acceptance message to the college. Hot shit! Stanford? When did Sammy even apply? Dean looked up, a grin on his face, then felt it fade as he finally realized what the fight was about.

"Your brother wants to leave us." His father's voice was as cold as space.

"No! I just want something in my life other than hunting, Dad. I want a future."

"You have a future! A future with your brother and me, looking for the thing that killed your mother."

Sammy shook his head and took a step back. "It's been almost eighteen years and you still don't know what killed her. We're never going to find what did it. This is not what she would want for me. For all of us. And you _know_ that!"

The statement stung. Dean had a feeling their father wouldn't take it well. He wasn't wrong.

"The world out there isn't safe! Only as a family can we survive. So get this college nonsense out of your head, right now. You're staying here, and _doing as you're told_."

"Dad!" Dean took half a step forward. Hadn't his father learned yet not to make statements like that to Sammy?

Sam took another step back. "I'm going to college. You have no right to keep me here."

"So now you know what's best?" Spittle flew from their father's mouth, his fury a twirling tempest. "You think you have what it takes to survive out there _alone_? You don't know crap! It's a war zone out there. One most people are totally ignorant about. And if you go out there, you're going to be putting yourself right in the line of fire."

"I don't care!" Sammy's fury matched their father's watt for watt. "It beats being a prisoner here. It'll be nice not being told what to think and when to think it!"

Dean stared from his brother's agonized face to their father's wrath, indecision marring his own features. This was getting way out of control. Soon they wouldn't be able to take things back, if it wasn't too late already. But how to stop it? "Quit it, you two! We can work something out. I'm sure of it! Just calm down."

It was like he wasn't even there. Why did it always have to be like this? Sammy was so damn stubborn. And Dad…sometimes Dad was just blind.

"Your life here is that bad? You find this life so distasteful? You would prefer to betray you mother, your family, all the people who've helped raise you? Then get the hell out! Get the hell out but remember one thing – you make that choice and there's no turning back. You leave and it's done. Don't you ever dare show your face around here again." 

Dean panicked, almost getting in his father's path. "Dad, _no_! You don't mean that." What the heck was wrong with him? Ultimatums were bad – ultra bad!

"I meant every word." Their father's eyes were rock hard.

Sammy looked as if someone had punched him in the gut. Then his features slowly smoothed out, which drove a wedge of fear into Dean. "Okay."

"No, Sammy! No!" No, no, no, no, no!

His brother turned away from their father without another word and headed toward the door. Dean moved to block his way. Horror was prickling at the edges. This was going too far. "Don't do this. _Please_."

Sammy wouldn't look at him, just brushed past him and reached for the door. Dean moved to grab his arm.

"Dean, stop! He's made his choice."

Years of unquestioning obedience stayed his hand. He saw Sammy hesitate for just a split second, his back a wall of tension and held back pain. Then he opened the door, and shoving at the screen, walked on out.

Dean glanced back at his father in disbelief, at the smoldering rage burning there. How could he be allowing this to happen? He was forcing their family to be ripped apart! Hadn't he been the one saying just a minute ago how important it was for them to stay together? Dean ran out after his brother.

"Sammy, wait! Sammy!"

Sam was already half way down the graveled driveway. He didn't slow down.

"Dammit, Sam! Stop for Pete's sake." Dean ran forward and went around him, blocking his way again.

Sammy stopped, Dean too close to go around. He turned his face away, tears burning tracks down his cheeks. "Leave me alone, Dean." He choked the words out. "It's too late."

"No! Don't say that. Just give me some time; I can make him see reason. You don't have to leave this way." Dean reached for him, but Sam knocked his hand back.

"You heard what he said." Deep hurt and resentment resonated in his voice. "He's not going to change his mind. He's wanted this all along and now I've given him a reason to do it."

"Don't you say that, don't you fucking say that!" He grabbed Sam by the arms. "Dad loves you, dammit! The two of you are just too damn touchy. I don't think either of you ever listens to what the other says."

Sam pushed him back hard. "You don't know _anything, _Dean. It's over. Now, leave me the hell alone!"

Was he the only one who really cared anything about this family? "Sam, this is crazy! Would you listen to yourself? You can't just leave like this. You have no money, no clothes, no place to go. How the hell are you even going to get to California?"

Sammy wiped at his face with his sleeve. "That's not your problem."

"Like hell it's not. You're my brother!" It was his job to keep Sam safe.

"Dean, I'm not going back. I'm never going back." His jaw set in a stubborn line, the muscle along the side twitching.

"Fine. Don't. Just wait here. Give me five minutes, okay? Five minutes! Please?" Even if he didn't, he would find him. Sam wouldn't be able to get too far in just a few minutes. Unless he hitched.

Dean put on a burst of speed and ran back to the house, not waiting to see if Sammy would do as he asked or not. As he came inside, a quick look showed his father was no longer in the living room. Counting his blessings, he skirted past the still waiting groceries and ducked into the room he shared with his brother.

Digging in the closet, he found a duffel bag and started stuffing as much of Sam's stuff into it as he could get his hands on as well as a couple of other things. Then prying up a loose board from underneath his bed, Dean brought out the tin he kept there with his emergency cash.

There had to be a way he could fix this. There had to be. It was all just happening so fast.

Dean took a cautious glimpse out of the room, but still saw no sign of their father. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. His gaze passed by one of the few pictures of their mother, the one taken with their father in his military fatigues. He grabbed it on his way through and stuffed it into the bag. His father would be furious when he found out, but Dean didn't care. Sammy needed it more than they did. It would be a reminder of his family, of what he left behind.

Dean made his way back outside. His heart jumped into his throat when he caught no immediate sign of his brother. He didn't wait! Panic made his heart skip a beat.

"Sammy!" A flash of a white caught his attention and he headed for the oak tree near the road. His brother was there, keeping himself out of view from the house. Dean found he could breathe again. "I got some of your stuff. There's some cash in there too."

His brother took the bag, but wouldn't look at him. "Thanks."

"You don't have to do this, Sammy. We _can_ work something out. I know we can." Dean tried to put every last ounce of conviction he could into his voice.

Sammy shook his head, hugging the bag to his chest. "I'm not going back."

His brother was stubborn -- too damn stubborn by far. Dean's chest felt horribly tight. He didn't want to do this. He also didn't seem to have much choice. "Yeah, yeah, I get that, _okay_? How about a ride somewhere? Hell, how about I give you the Ford?"

Sammy still wouldn't look at him. Dean could see enough of his face to tell he was arguing with himself. "No. I need to start taking care of things on my own."

Dean's throat closed up. This was it. He was really leaving. His brother was going to go and leave him. "You, you have to promise me something though."

"What?" Sammy's shoe dug into the dirt.

"You've got to call me, text me, email me, whatever, and let me know you're okay, all right? You, you've got to stay in touch. I'll call you, too. Let you know how we're doing. We're family. You _gotta_ remember that. And if you get into trouble, don't forget I'm here for you, man." There was so much more he wanted to say, so much more he wanted to do. Sammy was leaving him. How was he going to be able to protect him now? How would he do his job? "Promise me."

"I…I promise." Sam's voice was very small. "Good bye, Dean." He pushed away from the tree.

Dean grabbed him before he got too far and turned him around then hugged him hard. It only made him feel marginally better when Sammy returned the hug just as fiercely.

His brother pulled back after a moment, and Dean noticed tears were once more running down his brother's face. Sammy turned away and started down the road without looking back. Dean stared after him his own vision far from clear.

It was a long time before Dean turned away and headed back toward the house. A knot of worry was already growing in his gut and Sammy had barely gone. What would it be like in a week, a month, _a year_? Since that terrible night almost eighteen years ago, he doubted he'd ever been apart from his brother for more than half a day. Now it might be forever. Dread washed through him making him stagger with its intensity. What was he going to do?

He reached for the screen and stopped, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. Unexpected anger rumbled through him, anger at Sam for leaving, but more at his father for pushing him to it. He yanked the screen door open a little harder than was prudent. It smacked against the wall and tried to come at him, but he was already through the door when it did. The sound of it hitting the frame echoed in the empty living room.

He always did everything his father asked of him. Things went smoother that way, something Sammy never seemed to get. Their father knew what he was about. But on this, on this he was _dead wrong_. He should have never backed Sammy into a corner like that. Of course his brother wouldn't back down!

For the first time in his life he truly wanted to give his father of piece of his mind. He had to be shown this wasn't right.

Dean stared at his options, knowing there weren't many places his father could have gone in the house. He decided to try the kitchen first.

He spotted him as he approached the doorway, sitting at the worn Formica topped table. Dean got to the entryway and came to a dead stop as several things imprinted themselves on his mind at once.

The upper right hand cabinet was open. That was the designated heavy liquor cabinet, which was off limits to everyone but their Dad. And while their father would and had drank beers till the cows came home, the strong stuff at the house was only for company or when his father was feeling very very low. But even then he only drank it at night. It was currently only late afternoon. The bottle next to him was already half empty.

On the table, set off to the side as if to make sure it would remain unharmed, was Sammy's acceptance letter. It looked to have been painstakingly smoothed out, almost like an apology for its previous rough treatment.

His father was slumped over the top of the Formica. One would think he was asleep, or passed out from drink, except for the telltale shaking of his shoulders and the sobbing sounds staunchly muffled beneath.

Dean's anger up and died, like fire thrown into vacuum. He didn't need to tell his father what he had done, the mistake he'd made – his father already knew.

Looking away and as quietly as he could manage, Dean backed up and left him alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam remembered nothing of the walk over to the library. He'd had no real destination in mind, just a need to put as much distance between himself and the figurative door, which had been shut behind him, as soon as possible.

He stared at the familiar carved doors and worn red brick walls, but didn't feel the usual thrill at knowing inside he would be able to find something interesting to stimulate his mind, or factoids he knew nothing about, or even be able to submerge himself in research for a school report. Today he felt none of that. Only numbness. It was as if everything around him were no longer real, only a passing picture meant to be glimpsed then ignored.

He wiped at his face with his sleeve, the hardened crust from previous swipes loosening up as he added more moisture and contents to the mess.

He needed to calm down, to hide everything inside. If he didn't, someone would notice him eventually and start asking questions. Questions were bad. He had to behave as if this were one of Dean's cons, like back when they got grilled by some adult while they waited for their father who was late coming back from a hunt but the rent or payment for the motel room was due. He needed to prep a mask he could wear out in public, or think of himself as being in a play, like the one he'd been in last year, one where everything with the Winchesters was peachy as pie.

Sam took several deep breaths and tried to center himself. When he thought he might be ready, he rushed up the library steps before he could think to chicken out. There was information he needed, plans he had to make, and this was the best place he knew of to get the information to make them.

Mrs. Simpson mercifully wasn't at the front desk so Sam was able to duck into the boys' restroom unseen. He checked all the stalls to make sure the place was empty before he set his bag up by the sink. Taking off his outer shirt while avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, he turned on the water at the sink and splashed water on his face. The cool feel of the liquid soaked into him, helping his heart slow a little more. He grabbed his shirt and dried his face, then finger combed his hair, before daring to peek at himself in the mirror. His eyes were a little puffy, but overall he looked normal. Normal – what exactly was that? Had he ever really known any such thing?

He shook his head, bitterness trying to rise inside him and knowing he had no time for it. He shoved his shirt into the bag, blindly searching for the money Dean said he put in there. He needed to know where he stood, know what he could or couldn't do, and once he knew the parameters, he needed to make a plan.

The wad surprised him by its thickness even before he pulled it out. How much had his brother given him? The bills were mostly tens and twenties, but they added up fast. Sam found his breath coming in and out in a rush as he realized he had over two thousand dollars in small bills. Dean had given him everything!

It was the emergency cash he kept, in case things went bad and they had to bail. Sam knew their father had his own stash, but this one Dean had been keeping and adding to here and there just in case. It had also given them somewhere to get a little money to occasionally go do something fun. And now Sam had all of it.

Tears tried to gather in his eyes again as he bunched the money in his fists. He fought to force them back, this not being the time or place. He checked his face in the mirror again, and satisfied with what he saw, put the money away and picked up his bag.

Taking a deep breath, he plastered a small smile on his face and left the restroom.

"Oh, hi there, Sam. I didn't think I'd be seeing you today." Mrs. Simpson was back at her usual post.

"My brother's covering for me. I forgot some stuff I needed to look up for tomorrow." It still amazed him how easily he could lie when he needed to. He didn't like it, avoided it whenever he could, but sometimes it was just the course of least resistance. The more of a stranger the person or the tighter the situation, the easier it got. But never to Dean or his father, it wasn't right. Not that he had to worry anymore on that account.

"Well, let me know if you need any help, all right?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Simpson." He tried to act nonchalant as he went on his way, feeling anything but.

Though a small town in what some would consider the middle of nowhere, the place was more progressive than most. Not only was the library loan program working and heavily encouraged, so Sam could pretty much borrow anything from other libraries in the state and beyond, but they had public Internet service terminals. And it was from these he was hoping to get all the information he would need.

As he passed the card catalog, he grabbed several cut pieces of paper and a small pencil. Then he made his way to an empty half cubicle and got to work.

Stanford's website was the first place he stopped at, checking out information on registration, admissions, housing, all the things which he was sure would be coming in a packet he would now never receive. His hand curled into a fist, his nails digging painfully into his palm. He shouldn't have to be doing this. Bitterness rose again like bile and he struggled to hold his emotions in check. He only had a couple of hours before the library closed, he couldn't afford to waste them.

Scrunching forward and staring only at the screen, Sam went back to work.

"Do you need a ride, Sam? It's kind of late to be walking home."

Mrs. Simpson locked the library door and moved to join him at the sidewalk, a questioning look on her face.

"No, thanks. My brother's on his way. He's just running a little late." He gave her the best smile he could muster, feeling totally drained and numb.

It must not have been too convincing as he could see a small frown forming on her face. "Sam, are you all right?"

He took a deep breath and shoved his mask firmly in place. "Didn't sleep well last night, crazy neighbor's dog was barking like mad. Should have taken a nap before coming over."

He saw her worry easy a little. "A good night's sleep should fix you up then. Hopefully no more barking dog?"

"I don't think it'll be a problem tonight, ma'am."

She gave him a small smile. "Good night then. Take care."

Sam watched her go to her car and stayed put until it disappeared from sight. Only then did he pull out the piece of paper where he had written the name of a cheap motel off of the interstate on the outskirts of town.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he set off toward his destination.

Room 3D was dingy and not well kept, but it had a bed, electricity, and a working bathroom. He would need it too. The open leer coming from the night desk clerk had left him feeling dirty. Only the excuse his father was waiting for him outside, kept the man at bay. But first things first.

Sam dropped his bag on the bed to take inventory. With Dean's frenzied packing, there was no telling what he might have shoved into the thing or left him without. Until he could get hold of Mr. Davis at the High School and get a list of all the places he'd applied at for financial aid and how to contact them, and he found an address they could mail things to, his funds would be very limited. If he could speed things up, he would begin school in the summer quarter in June and hopefully get at least dorm housing and the use of the subsidized cafeteria. But until then he would have to make do with little to nothing, getting a part time job and scraping what he could together until he could get himself in there. A fake address or a PO Box, some hole in the wall to sleep and keep out the weather, use of the local YMCA to wash, and he should be able to survive. If there was one thing Winchesters knew how to do was survive. Everything else was…optional…

He stared for a moment at the worn bed. This could very well be the last time he got to use one in a while. And though the room was probably an extravagance he could ill afford, it would keep him from getting picked up by the well meaning cops from town for vagrancy tonight and getting dragged back home. He would rather do without at some point down the road than go there. It would be like having failed before he ever even got started.

As he removed the contents of the bag, Sam was surprised at Dean's thoroughness, especially when he'd had so little time. A couple of pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, two button shirts, socks, his sneakers, and four pairs of underwear. The sheathed knife was a welcomed if sour find -- his father's gift to him, not two weeks before, for his eighteenth birthday. A sign as big as life as to what he expected his son to do after graduation.

Sam set the knife to the side, pushing the memories and sharp feelings away with it. There was one more thing in the bag, laying flat against the bottom. He leaned forward to pick it up.

His gasp echoed in the room as he looked at what he had. It was a picture of his Mom and Dad, the one they kept in the living room. The one Dad set out for them to see no matter where they went or how short or long they stayed there. Was Dean out of his mind? Their father would go ballistic when he found it missing! He'd make Dean do push-ups till his arms fell off. His brother shouldn't have given him this.

Even as he thought it, his heart was glad for the deed anyway. He caressed his Mother's face as he had for years whenever he walked past the picture. That sad yearning to meet her to know her thrummed as it always did when he thought of her – the woman who gave him life, whom Dean worshiped, and for whom the finding of her killer had become the family crusade. But no more, not for him. He was done.

His throat tightened.

Suddenly he became aware of the quiet around him. Of the fact he was alone. Though he'd been in hundreds of motels just like this one, it felt nothing like any of the ones before. Dean wouldn't be popping in any minute with some smartass comment or joke. There would be no teasing bouts, no more impromptu wrestling matches, no more competitions, no more lessons, no more nothing.

His family was gone.

Warm tears landed on his Mother's smiling face and ran down the glass unnoticed.

Sam hugged the picture to his chest and fell back onto the bed, slowly curling up into a tight, sobbing ball.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Sam might still be in town, Dad. Even if he's not, I'm sure I could find him." Dean hung back by the doorway into the living room, not able to gage his father's mood, but incapable of staying quiet anymore.

After two days locked away in his room, his Dad had finally braved the light and shuffled over onto the couch. He looked pale, his face drawn, eyes more bloodshot than Dean had ever seen them, but otherwise his father seemed alert and calm.

Dean had paced as he'd waited through each day, willing his father to come out from his self imposed isolation so he could put this to him. Things could still be fixed, but he didn't dare look for Sammy until his father allowed it.

"Let me tell him you've changed your mind. That he can come back to us."

The dark brown eyes that fixed him in their stare were cold and unreadable. "He made his choice."

"Like he had much of one?" His Dad's face went stony blank and Dean knew he needed to back up and quick. "All I'm saying is if you give your okay, I can at least tell him he can visit, come back to us when he's not in school. This is Sammy we're talking about, Dad. He's family."

His father said nothing but the cold stare didn't waver. Dean tried his best not to squirm.

"I got a call. There's a job for us in Peyton. I want to leave this afternoon." His father voice was dark and empty.

Dean felt his stomach crumple in a knot. "But, Dad-"

His father stood up. "Get our stuff loaded into the Impala. Make sure the weapons are clean." He shuffled off toward the kitchen.

"Yes, sir." Dean's disappointed dragged at him like an anchor. After what he'd seen in that very room a few days ago, he'd so hoped his father would reconsider. He knew he couldn't risk pushing too hard or too fast, as he'd never seen his father dangling so far over the abyss. He'd watched and helped to keep him from it as best he could for years, so he knew the signs. Dean would just have to continue to work on him, softly, diligently, but it might end up being the hardest, longest battle he ever fought. And there was absolutely no guarantee he would win.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam stepped off the bus at the San Francisco Transbay Terminal, his body a tight knot. He'd snacked on chips and candy bars for the last two days, trying to be as frugal with his money as possible, especially after shelling out a hundred and thirty five dollars in bus fare to get to San Francisco and knowing it would take another five to take the CalTrain to Palo Alto. It had helped that he hadn't possessed much of an appetite since he left home.

He sedately followed the crowd into the worn, white colored building, his bag over his shoulder.

Aside from an hour here or there, sleep had been eluding him as well. He was too keyed up, too full of worry to sleep. For the first time in his entire life, he was on his own. Success or failure, it was totally in his hands. And he wasn't all that confident he could do it.

If Dean had known either of these things, he'd have had a fit. His brother thought of food and sleep as absolute requirements for life and happiness. True or not, Sam couldn't shut down his brain enough to rest for long. Probabilities, options, plans, lists, things he needed to do or avoid, they ran over in his mind over and over, even as his mind would be simultaneously looking for anything he'd missed, the fear of it nipping constantly at his heels.

The Transbay Terminal was packed. Conversations clashed against him like waves against rocks. The thrum numbed him, a low level headache threatening in the background.

As he drifted along with the throng, searching for the right line to the CalTrain platform, he spotted a rack of postcards at an alley sized gift shop in the back. Some of the cards were California specific -- blue and gold for the state colors, grizzly bears, golden poppy flowers. Others were more generic with cute cat or dog pictures, while a whole other section was theme based and full of unicorns, movie stars, sports, and cars.

Quickly eyeballing what was available, Sam grabbed five of the cheapest cards they had. His promise to Dean was but one of the many points prominently keeping him awake at night. He could use these to let him know he was okay and do so as cheaply as possible. He'd put one in the mail as soon as he got to Palo Alto.

Though he'd traveled all his life, this felt like the first time. It was totally different from what he'd experienced before. No companionable silences, no Dean chatter, no father's field of confidence and control. Sam had no books to read to distract him – didn't dare spend the cash. Initiating conversations with strangers had never been his thing, one of several reasons it was so hard for him to make friends. He'd always envied Dean's shameless ability at such things – within minutes of them being anywhere he had friends, people to hang with if he wanted them. Unless Sam had a specific purpose, he just couldn't bring himself to intrude on another's privacy. He sighed. He knew his reticence would hinder his efforts, but as illogical as it was, he just wasn't sure he could do something about it.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Don't expect me back till late."

Dean set the pieces of the .45 he was cleaning back on the table, a frown marring his face. "Again?"

His father stopped by the door to the outside in the back of the kitchen his brow rising.

Dean knew he wasn't one to talk – late nights being a specialty of his and all, but not every single day. Since they'd come back from their last hunt, his father had left every day before sundown and rarely made an appearance before three am. He'd get up just long enough to clean up and ask if they had a job, before leaving again. As plastered as Dean had seen him come in, it was a wonder he hadn't ended up in a ditch with the old truck somewhere or been in some accident. At least he had sense enough not to take the Impala out for his drinking binges.

This was getting out of hand though, no matter how he looked at it. But Dean possessed no idea how to bring up the subject without getting his head chewed off. His Dad's tolerance quotient was at an all time low of late.

"You got something to say, Dean?"

Yeah, definitely at an all time low. "No, sir."

His father grunted then went outside, letting the door slam behind him.

Dean let out a slow sigh and scratched his head. Things couldn't go on this way. Sooner or later something had to give. And when it did, it wasn't likely to be pretty.

He put the pieces of the .45 back together barely paying attention to what he was doing, the motions ingrained from long practice.

The real problem was Sammy. There'd been no word, no sign of him whatsoever for almost a week – not since the day he left. Worry for him gnawed at Dean's gut whenever he allowed himself to think about his brother, and he really hadn't been gone all that long. Still, this was the longest they'd ever done without him, and if something had happened to him… A hard lump constrained his chest at the thought. _Dammit all, Sammy. Call, email me, something! You promised me_.

He didn't realize he'd banged his fist on the table until the side of his hand began to throb. An almost overwhelming desire to just jump into the Impala and take off for Palo Alto made him dizzy with the force of it.

If he broke a few laws and drove straight through, he could be there in less than twelve hours. He was halfway to his feet before he brought himself up short. Getting to Palo Alto wouldn't be a problem…but finding Sammy once he got there… He sat back down.

That in itself wasn't an insurmountable issue, but it would take time. Time his father would be left on his own, with no one to try to pick up the pieces. His fist smashed the table again. "Shit, shit, shit."

Dean shot to his feet tumbling his chair to the floor behind him. He was being torn in two. Yet no matter how much he missed his brother or drove himself crazy worrying about him, he knew Sammy could take care of himself. Right now though, their father was something else altogether. He was self-destructing and didn't seem to care. If Dean didn't cook and put the food in front of him, he was pretty sure his father wouldn't even eat. He just couldn't leave him on his own right now – no matter how frustrated it made him feel.

The room suddenly seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing in as if to trap him there. Grabbing the .45 and tucking it into his jacket, he stomped out of the kitchen and through the living room to go out of the house's front door.

The lowering sun glared into his eyes and for a moment, he thought there was someone tall standing in the drive. His heart lurched hard until he realized there was no one there – it'd been but the shadow from one of the trees. The disappointment was almost more than he could bear.

He quickly clamped onto the feeling and buried it as deep as he could manage.

This was the place he'd seen Sammy for the last time. His gaze roamed over the yard, ending by the tree where the two of them had parted. Maybe coming out here was a mistake.

Looking away, his gaze fell on the mailbox on the side of the road. Had he checked the darn thing since they got back? Sammy had always been the one to worry about the mail before.

Dean stepped off the porch. Fresh grooves in the rocks and dirt, plus the lingering smell of dust showed the path his father took on his leaving.

Sam didn't have a phone. Calling long distance would cost money. There'd been no emails. But what about plain old mail? His pace quickened until he almost ran the rest of the way to the mailbox. _Don't get your hopes up, idiot_. There was no guarantee there would be anything in there.

He called himself a fool, his hand shaking as it moved to open the box. A small pile of mail was nestled inside. He held his breath as he reached in to pull them out.

Junk. Bill. Bill. Junk. The last was a postcard with the Greyhound bus line logo on it. On the other side, in neat handwriting were only five words. But they filled Dean with such relief he was giddy.

Reached Palo Alto. Doing okay. –


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"All your paperwork seems to be in order."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He shifted slightly in the uncomfortable contoured plastic chair.

"As to going ahead and taking summer courses, that shouldn't be a problem." Mr. Forest, the Admissions Supervisor, gave him a friendly nod. "We have sufficient openings to get you housing now and registration hasn't quite closed yet. With your grades, SAT, and ACT scores, we're more than willing to cut a few corners if we have to. All your reference letters couldn't have been more flattering." He gave Sam a disarming smile.

Sam turned on one of his own, giving it as much wattage as he could manage. He was more grateful to Mr. Forest and his councilor back at the high school than either man would ever know. "That's great!"

"Only thing is, that while you've definitely been able to get more than enough scholarships to pay for whatever you might need, most of them won't kick in until the fall semester."

Trepidation flushed through him, but he did his best not to let it show on his face. He should have known things were going too well. "So I'll be short?"

"Some. The ones that can kick in now only require a minimum of three classes. So if you stick with that, it should minimize how much you'll need to cover that the scholarships won't."

Sam nodded, a touch of panic vying to make itself felt even as he tried his best to ignore it. He'd known this might happen. He had options. This was no time to fall apart. He could handle this. "My…family is somewhat strapped for cash, so I'm pretty much on my own. Does the school have any job openings that you know of? Or might you have suggestions on any local places to check for part time jobs? Maybe I could take a loan till I could cover the difference?"

"As a matter of fact…" Forest's eyes lit up. "We do have need of a research assistant in the Sociology department. Dr. Weathers received a major grant for a project last year and has fallen behind on some of the background materials, and you do seem to have some skills not normally found in a freshman…like being well versed in Latin, for instance…"

Sam wasn't sure if this was turning out to be his lucky day or an elaborate set up by the faculty. Either way, he wasn't about to complain.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dean had frequented a number of dives in his time, but this place was a total pit. The neon sign on the front wall was missing half its letters. The name of the place was either the Lucky Star or the Leaky Seat, though the five, now four, pointed star rusting on the door gave some weight to the former.

The windows looked to have all been broken long ago, their yawning cavities covered over with cardboard and duck tape. The neighborhood around it was as run down if not more so than the bar. With a gun and three knives, he still felt under protected. At least it was daytime. If there was a place where bad things might decide to prowl for victims, this would be it. He'd have to come back and check it out again when he had more hardware on him.

His father never came home the night before. Dean had already been to five other places looking for him. Seemed his Dad got himself kicked out of each one and been told never to show his face there again and all that in just a handful of days -- and now this. Enough was enough, even if it was John Winchester.

The aroma of stale vomit and cheap whiskey greeted him as Dean pushed open the front door. He spotted a handful of costumers, most off in different areas by themselves, sitting in rickety chairs and barely standing tables. Loud snoring echoed from the right, overriding the whining jukebox and speaker feedback from the other side.

A beat up bar, gouged and carved over by customers from top to bottom took up the back. The frame of what once might have held a large mirror sat held up on the wall. Draped over the bar, with a partially empty bottle of some no name hooch, was his father.

As Dean approached, his Dad moved just enough to kick back a filled shot glass.

Knowing better than to approach him unannounced, Dean stopped six feet from him. "Dad."

He got no reaction.

"Dad!"

His father threw a slow look over his shoulder in his direction. He looked bad. Eyes were totally bloodshot, his beard more unkempt than usual, the color of his face was off. Worse, his left eye was almost totally swollen shut and there was a dripping gash over his cheek.

"Dad, it's time to come home." Dean spoke slowly and without inflection, not sure how his father would take the pronouncement in his current state.

The red-eyed stare lasted a moment longer then his father turned away and poured himself another drink.

Dean hoped to heck the stuff he was drinking was watered down. The last thing any of them needed was to have to deal with a case of alcohol poisoning. Getting his father home was going to be hard enough as it was. He took a step closer. "Dad, please, let's go home. You're going to kill yourself if you keep going like this."

He might as well have been talking to the floor for all the reaction he got. What his father didn't like he either ignored or blew apart. When he wasn't in total control, he ran hot or cold with nothing in between. Could come as quite a shock if you didn't know him, and sometimes even when you did.

Still, the fact he was being ignored worried Dean on a level deeper than anything before. He'd partly suspected this, but had hoped otherwise. There really wasn't any room for doubt anymore though. Loosing Sammy was destroying his father and he more than happily was helping it along.

Anger flared inside Dean even as another part of him wept. All he'd ever done was try to keep their family healthy and together, yet neither his father nor his brother seemed to care that it was falling apart, even less that they'd be leaving him alone because of it.

For a moment he was tempted to just turn around and leave his father to his self imposed fate. Guilt and shame snuffed out the feeling almost immediately. His father wasn't wrong on many things, but with regards to Sammy and this he couldn't have been more mistaken. Dean couldn't give up on him now, not after everything they'd been through, not after all the sacrifices, the training, the hardships, not after what had happened to Mom. They still had things to do, people to save, monsters to kill. And there was always the chance things could be made right between all of them again...somehow…

He stepped forward and placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "Dad, we're going home." He squeezed. "Now. _Please_."

"I'm not finished here." His father's words slurred together but there was no mistaking the irritated tone of impatience.

He wasn't leaving Dean much choice. He might have to remove his father bodily, something he wouldn't take to kindly and would likely have painful consequences. Dean knew he was good, but against his father, even inebriated, it could be chancy. Luckily he had one ace up his sleeve. One he'd kept close just in case of something like this.

"Dad…I've heard from Sammy."

His father turned around so fast he almost tripped and fell to the floor. "What did you say?"

The look of burning need in his face made Dean want to turn away and hide from it, it was so desperate and vulnerable.

"I've heard from Sammy." He pulled out two postcards from the pocket of his jacket. "He's at the college. I have an address for him."

"He's all right?"

Dean nodded, recognizing the hopeful tone, the grasped lifeline, which meant he could pull his father once more away from the abyss. "Yeah, Dad, Sammy's all right."

When Dean reached for his arm to put over his shoulder, his father didn't resist.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Shit, these rooms are small."

Sam glanced up from the half desk close to the door at the tall brown haired student framed in the open doorway. "Hi."

Summer classes were over and the fall session was about to start. He'd been lucky, probably due to Mr. Forest, and hadn't had to share the room till now. He'd enjoyed the privacy even as it had felt terribly strange. It hadn't been something he'd had much of before. Yet he'd found himself somewhat looking forward to some roommates. His bid for making friends hadn't been going anywhere near as good as he wished. It was his hope that by having roommates, he'd be forced to be more forthcoming and gain more than just passing acquaintances.

"You're one of my roommates I take it?" The student still hadn't come inside, a large duffle bag hooked over his shoulder.

To say he didn't look impressed was an understatement. Sam's excitement over meeting his fellow students dampened a little. He stood up. "My name's Sam. Nice to meet you."

"Mitch." He nodded in Sam's direction but totally ignored the outstretched hand. Instead, he took a deep breath and walked on in as if committing himself to a distasteful course. He threw the duffel onto the nearest bed. "Let me guess, computer science major?"

Sam frowned getting the distinct feeling this guy would find that as distasteful as he had everything else so far. "Sociology Major, actually."

That got him a raised brow. "International Business here." Mitch turned to take care of his bag, leaving Sam to waffle as to what to do now. He sat back down, feeling awkward and not sure how to proceed.

"So…know of any pre semester parties?" Mitch sent him a glance as he pulled open one of the dresser drawers and shook his head at the lack of space he found there.

"No. Sorry. Not much into that sort of thing."

The answering look he got was one Sam was only too well acquainted with. His spirits dropped even lower. Looks of disapproval and disappointment were a John Winchester specialty. Sam would recognize one anywhere having been the recipient of more than his share of them. It was but one of the many things he wished never to have to deal with again.

"Mitch!"

Both Sam and his roommate turned toward the door. A short, rather muscular student walked into the room.

"Brian! Hey!" Mitch heartily shook the new guy's hand. "Tell me you've been assigned to this room."

"I've been assigned to this room." Brian grinned. "I told you Dad had connections with the old Alma matter."

Mitch looked pleased for the first time since he arrived. "It's so good to see you. This will work out great." 

Sam stood up slowly.

Brian noticed him. "Oh, hey. You our third roomie?"

Before Sam could say anything, Mitch answered the question for him. "Yeah, he's it." How he felt about it was rudely obvious. "Sociology major. Doesn't do parties. Name of…" He half turned toward him. "What was your name again?"

"Sam. My name is Sam."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dean sat in the passenger side of the Mercury Lincoln, his father at the wheel. They'd picked up the old car at the end of their latest job, his father paying cash for it at the next town over after they'd both fleeced the heck out of the locals at the pool hall. The body needed work, but the engine was sound, and the price had been right.

At the time, he'd wondered at the need for the extravagance, but the info hadn't been forthcoming and he knew better than to ask. Then less than a day ago, his Dad told him they were taking the car to California.

Ever since the scene at the Lucky Star, his father had appeared more in control, more like his old self. Dean made sure to dig up as many jobs as he could find, no matter how tenuous, just to keep his father busy and moving. Between the work and the news that Sammy was okay, he appeared to have leveled out – finally. Dean didn't plan to take his eyes off him though. Not yet.

His Dad was keeping tightlipped about what they were doing out here, but that didn't really surprise him. His father would let him know what this was about when he was ready. It had always made things easier, really. Not having to sweat the details or carry the burden of figuring out what to do. His only job was to follow orders, react when necessary, and kill the bad thing. It was the only way to go.

Dean glanced up at the signs on US 101 and his heart leapt to his throat. Palo Alto, 50 miles – Palo Alto – Sammy. He threw a look in his father's direction wondering if he'd seen it. What were the odds they'd get a job out this way of all places? The singular tightness around his chest he got when he thought about his brother came back full force.

"Dad, since we're out this way… Once we finish whatever we're here to do, do you think we could, maybe…" He glanced at his father as he spoke, to see what kind of effect the suggestion would have, but never finished it. His father was gripping the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip, his profile tense, and his eyes staring straight ahead. Dean wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It made him feel uneasy.

As each sign indicated they were getting closer to Palo Alto, the more palpable the tension became inside the car.

When the Lincoln transferred lanes to take the Palo Alto exit, the one with the words Stanford University emblazoned beneath it, Dean stared at his father in surprise. Was he doing it? Were they actually going to visit Sammy? A shot of happiness went through him, this being the first hint there might be a chance of getting the family back together since the mess started back in May.

His father would have to eat crow, there was no way around it – he'd been wrong and he knew it. But he could be extremely charming when he wanted. And if Sammy was half way receptive…

It would never be as it was before; Dean knew that. But there'd be no more skulking around. Sammy could visit during vacation, Dean would actually get to see his brother, bug the shit out of him, drag him out on the town, be together -- rather than have to subsist on a postcard or two for weeks at a time.

He leaned forward drinking in everything before him. This was where Sammy was, where he went to school, played, lived. Just knowing what the place looked like brought him closer to his brother -- as if they were sharing experiences. He wanted the Lincoln to move faster, to get him that much closer to Sammy now.

The first thing he noticed were the trees. Unlike most cities, Palo Alto had a lot of them, everywhere. Open spaces too, and parks, lots of parks. Downtown had a small town feel, the one story concrete buildings distinct and painted in a myriad of colors. Glimpses of the San Francisco Bay could be seen to the right.

El Camino Real brought them closer to the university. Stanford had its own stadium, an amphitheater, even a medical center. Many of the buildings possessed a Spanish flare. Dean's gaze leapt from person to person as the number of students walking back and forth to different destinations grew in leaps and bounds. Sammy was here. Somewhere in this mess, his brother was walking somewhere, learning something. And soon he'd get to see him again. Was he skinnier? Taller? Did he spend more time outside? Maybe have a nice tan? Had he cut his hair or did his bangs still fall all over his face as usual? His growing excitement was almost more than he could stand.

The Lincoln turned onto Palm then took Campus drive east, letting them get a look at The Oval, a huge open field of green leading toward the Quad, the heart of the school grounds. A couple of more turns brought them to a visitor's parking lot next to Memorial Hall, a large tan colored building with covered walkways. A large sign stated the visitors' center was located within. As they got out of the car, Dean spotted Hoover Tower, which with its distinctive reddish dome, seemed to stare down at them as if guarding the university.

Assuming what his father wanted, Dean turned on the charm at the visitor center, motivated like never before. A few flashed smiles and compliments later, and the helpful woman at the counter was looking up all the info on Sammy he might ever want to know. His Dad stayed by the door and let him work, his tense presence palpable even from across the room.

Dean almost skipped back outside, the anticipation giving him a buzz. "Got his address. His schedule too. We can plan when to surprise him! I can't wait to see the look on his face." He glanced back at his father and his steps faltered. The pleasure or at least relief he expected to see in his Dad's face wasn't there. If anything, his father had his game face on. But why?

"We have a reservation at a motel in town. We need to go check in. There're some preparations to make." His voice was flat.

"What are you talking about, Dad? We have Sammy's address. Let's just go park there and wait for him to show. The motel can wait. I want to see him!"

His father shook his head and plowed on past him. "That's not what we're here for."

"What? But, Dad!"

"Get in the car, Dean." His father's tone brooked no argument.

Dean felt all his previous excitement shrivel up and die. "Yes, sir." Head hanging down, he went around the car and got inside. He didn't look at his father as his mind raced to try to figure out what this was about. If they weren't here to see Sammy, to make things right, then just what in hell were they doing there?

His father did nothing to enlighten him. For the first time since Sam left, Dean felt furious disgust building inside him at their Dad. He kept his gaze locked out the window, and though he wasn't really aware of what flashed past, he just knew that if he looked at his father he wouldn't be able to keep quiet. That would only make his Dad even more tight lipped and put him in a bad mood to boot. Dean just needed to bid his time and he would be told what was going on. But for once, it was really hard to do.

The car slowed and Dean focused on his surroundings for the first time. The Lincoln was turning into the parking lot of a Super 8 Motel. A green awning covered the area over the office entrance and the solitary vending machine. The sand colored walls of the long connected buildings didn't look particularly inviting. His father was splurging though, the chain one leg up from their usual choices.

"Here."

Dean glanced over at his father as something poked him in the arm. It was a credit card.

"Book us a room. Two days should do. I'll wait for you here."

Dean took the card, not meeting his father's gaze. He held back a moment, waiting to see if his Dad would say more, but there was nothing. The fury rolling inside him grew a bit more. He closed the door with a little more force than necessary, hoping his father would take the hint.

Looked like the last name for the stay would be Jones. He supposed he could be Davey. Groovy. Ugh. The uniformed clerk inside the office wasn't bad looking, but he just couldn't work up the enthusiasm for more than just following the motions and getting them checked in.

His father was still in the parking lot, the Lincoln on idle. Tight lines showed near his eyes, his jaw taut. Whatever they were here for, it had him wound tight. Good. Let's see how he liked it.

Getting back in the car, Dean handed over the credit card and key, but said nothing. The Lincoln backed out of the spot by the office and drove deeper into the lot before slipping into the slot for room 33.

"Grab the bags." His father slid out of the car and closed the door without saying anything else.

Dean sighed, letting his feelings flow out as much as he could before he opened his own door and moved to do as ordered. Slinging two duffels over his shoulder and grabbing the case in the trunk, he walked through the open door into their room. Beige walls and deep green carpet greeted him, browns and reds glaring from the twin beds and several paintings on the walls. His father was over by the small round table with chairs in a corner, spreading out a map. Dean nudged the door closed with his foot and set his burdens down on the nearest bed. "Dad, why are we here?"

"The schedule and address." He held his hand out for them, totally ignoring his question. This was getting old. Nevertheless, Dean approached the table and gave him the requested items.

He looked down at the map and saw it was of the university and its surroundings. "What exactly is it that we're going to be doing?"

His father glanced up from the map, a touch of annoyance coloring his face. "We're going to make sure this place is safe for your brother. It'll be a long night, so I suggest you get some sleep while you can." That said, he shut him out, turning all of his attention back to the map and the pieces of paper Dean had given him.

Sighing again, Dean turned away to do as he'd been told.

It was only nine thirty, but most of the campus was already empty and quiet. Dean guessed all those frat parties in the movies must happen on the weekend, otherwise this place looked to be boring as hell. Too much studying corroded the brain, something he'd tried teaching his brother, but the latter never listened.

They'd hoofed it here from the motel, pedestrians less noticeable in the current environs than those driving.

Though he'd slept, when he awoke, Dean had found his father pretty much exactly as he'd left him, pouring over the blasted map as if trying to engrave it into his brain.

His Dad called for takeout and after a silent and tense dinner they sat around cleaning weapons and checking inventory until he finally said it was time to go.

Dean possessed no more idea now than before on what exactly they were off to do, his father's uptight posture and closed face brooking no questions. But at least they were doing something. If he'd had to spend another hour in the room with the gloom oozing from the man, he would have drowned in it.

His father would occasionally check the map, but looked to be moving mostly from memory. Dean carried the duffel his father had prepared and followed silently. The two-story building was close to the Quad. His father took out a rather fancy EMF reader and swept it around the periphery of the building. The monitor remained silent.

Going around one more time, he then swept in behind the bushes in the back corner.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

"Hand me one of the bundles in the duffel."

Curious, Dean opened the bag and pulled out a small cloth sack. Turning it in his hand, he noticed it was embroidered. The stitching was of the All Seeing Eye, something used for protection. He handed the sack over. "What's in those?"

"Salt, red pepper, onions, vinegar, sulphur, Angelica root, and Bluestone." He scrunched down and buried the sack.

"That's all for protection and to keep evil things out, right?" Bluestone was toxic and not to be handled lightly. Dean glanced inside the duffel. It was filled with sacks just like the one he handed over. When the heck had his father put all this together? Hell, how long had he known he would be coming out here?

"Correct. Now take a couple of those and place them in the front corners. I'll get the other one."

Dean put the duffel down and fished out a couple of the sacks for himself. He wasn't sure how to feel right now. That his father was going to this much trouble to make sure Sammy was safe was heart wrenching, but also disturbing. Just how much supernatural trouble did he think his brother would run into here? Was it just paranoia or was there something his father wasn't telling him?

They took care of three other buildings then were cutting across a small park by one of the libraries when Dean saw him. He came to a dead stop, recognizing the familiar lanky shape despite the distance and shadows between them.

"Oh my god. It's Sammy!" Dean took a step in that direction, thinking of nothing but rushing up to his brother and giving him a backbreaking hug, when his arm was grabbed roughly from behind. He whipped his head around to glance behind him. "Dad?"

His father was staring past him, toward his younger son, the grip tightening on Dean's arm until the latter grimaced in pain. "_Dad_?"

Getting no response, Dean turned again to face toward his brother. Sammy had stopped and was slowly turning in a circle to look around him. Dean was yanked to the side, making him drop the duffel, his back pushed hard against the trunk of a tree, out of sight. His father's sweating hand went over Dean's mouth even as he pressed his body up against him, pining Dean there. His Dad leaned out just enough to be able to see past the tree.

Dean tried moving his head but the pressure from his father's clamped hand kept him still. He was exerting so much force, the bark was trying to embed itself into the back of Dean's skull.

The minutes ticked by and his father didn't release him, didn't move. It was like being held back by solid rock. Perspiration trickled down the back of Dean's neck though the evening was cool. Why had his father stopped him from going to Sammy? Why the hell had he reacted like this? What it the world did he think Dean was going to do? What was he afraid of? Because of that last thing he was pretty sure. The smell of it mingled with the smell of sap and green from the tree.

All at once, the pressure came off his face and body. Unprepared, Dean toppled forward. His face ached, and he wouldn't be surprised if it turned up with bruises in the morning.

His father spared him a quick glance then moved to retrieve the duffel bag and started off on his way again. It was like a cold slap in the face.

"_Dad_! What the hell was that about? _I don't understand what we're doing_!"

His father turned around and stared at him. "Sam may have deserted us, but he's still my son. I must make sure he's safe." His eyes reflected the glow of the moon above, making him look somehow inhuman.

Dean shook his head, the image making him uneasy. "And that's great, Dad, but why can't we see him? Talk to him? Let him know we're here?"

"He _deserted_ the family, Dean." His tone left no doubt he thought the answer only too obvious and needed no explanation. "He turned his back on your mother, on us. On the things that need to get done."

Dean fought to keep silent, doubting his father would like what he might say otherwise. Yes, Sammy had left, but his father had also helped drive him to it. They were both at fault but he was the one caught in the middle. And it _hurt_.

"Come on, we've more buildings to do before we're through." His father turned away and walked off into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Sam rubbed at his eyes as he walked into the dorm building, feeling more drained than usual.

Dr. Weather's had changed his mind on what he wanted him to research halfway through the job and he'd been forced to start from scratch, eight hours or more of accumulated effort flushed down the drain. He didn't mind the work, but at times it was tedious as all get out. It also wasn't helping that he was being used as some kind of bragging rights to some of the other professors working on their own projects and struggling to meet their deadlines as well. He'd never dreamed that a bunch of learned people like this could be so childish and backstabbing.

At least all his scholarships were now in place and active. As soon as Dr. Weathers finished this project, Sam wanted out. He now had the cash, and it was only right he spent his time on what he'd come here for in the first place – to go to school, study hard, and get a degree. He just wasn't all that sure Weathers or Forest would let him go that easily. He supposed if worse came to worse, he could start doing a crappy job and then they'd let him go. He didn't want it to come to that though. Just thinking about it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He climbed the stairs, and hoped his roommates might be out. They got along well enough, he supposed, though Mitch had never warmed up to him. Brian was easier to deal with, but he tended to follow Mitch's lead in just about everything, so he was pretty much a dead end as far as forming a decent friendship was concerned. Last thing Sam wanted right now was one of Mitch's highbrowed looks. What he really wanted was to crash and let his eyes recuperate from pouring through all the yellowing paper in archives.

He reached for the knob and heard voices trickle from inside. Trying not to sigh, he opened the door. He found a lot more than he bargained for in there. Not only were his two roommates in, so were three others. They were sitting on the beds, chairs, and boxes and pretty much filled the place to capacity. Most had cards in their hands and beer bottles at their sides. A decent sized pile of cash sat in the middle.

"We didn't expect you for another hour, roomie." Mitch's voice was pleasant, but the glare he sent his way wasn't. "You don't mind getting lost for awhile so we can finish up, right?"

Sam gave in and sighed. He wondered if he should ask to play, just so he could strip them all of their cash and snide smiles. He wouldn't do it and he knew it, though he could. It was one of the ways the family had of making some quick cash. He just didn't enjoy it. Dean, however, would have been all over it. "Fine. I'll come back later."

"That's a good sport!" Mitch raised his beer bottle in his direction then totally ignored him.

Sam rolled his eyes and closed the door. Guess sleep would have to wait. He was halfway down the hall when the door opened and Brian rushed out into the hall.

"Hey, Sam! Hold up a sec!"

He stopped, surprised, but didn't dare get his hopes up this was something nice. More than likely it was just to tell him to stay gone for two hours instead of one. "Yeah?"

Brian came to a stop before him. "You got a package. I thought you might want it." He handed it over. "I am sorry about this, man. I'll try to get them out on time."

Sam half smiled, more pleased by the gesture than he could say. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."

"No sweat. See ya in a bit."

Sam watched him go thinking maybe things were getting better. Hell, they had to. This had to all be worth it somehow.

Turning away, he looked down at the package in his hands. For him to get mail was unusual and normally connected to school somehow. So getting a package was definitely a surprise. He was even more surprised when he saw from whom and where it came from.

Feeling an unexpected spurt of energy, Sam hurried down the stairs into the dorm's common area so he could grab a seat. He put his backpack down and sat, settling the package on his lap. He stared at it, elated and frightened at the same time. This had come from Dean.

Taking a deep breath, Sam opened the box. Inside was a three by five card, with something else underneath. His throat tightened and his gaze grew blurry as he read what was on the card.

Consider this an early Christmas present,

cause I'm really getting tired of those postcards.

CALL ME!

The Best Brother Ever:

Dean

Sam moved the card to the side to see what was underneath. It was a cell phone box, one for an SCP-4900. When he opened the box, he found that the phone was active and still had power. There was a yellow stickie over the face – 'CALL ME! I mean it!' Flipping through the instruction book, Sam found the internal phone book and saw there were several entries already there. One said Dean, another Dad, then House, and Jim.

His eyes burned.

He pressed the button for Dean then raised the phone to his ear, barely daring to breathe.

It rang a couple of times then his brother's voice poured out of the earpiece. "Sammy! You called!"

Sam's heart skipped a beat. It was Dean, it was really him. He couldn't help the grin that suddenly tugged at the side of his face. "Like I had a choice."

"Darn tootin'! And that there is the newest, geekiest thing they had, too. So you better like it."

"It's, it's great, really. _Thanks_." He rubbed at his eyes, hot tears gathering there. Damn it was good to hear his brother's voice, to talk to someone who actually cared if he were alive. For a long moment he was overcome by such a large wave of relief and happiness, he almost drowned in it.

"You surviving okay out there in Califor-ni-aia? Settled in and everything?"

God, how he'd even missed his brother's lousy sense of humor. "Yeah. I have a dorm room on campus and two roommates."

"The two of them ubber geeks too?"

Sam could hear the hungry interest in his brother's voice. Was Dean missing him desperately, too? "No, not exactly…"

"_Oh_?"

The open question with the hint of possible worry almost made Sam double over, his eyes threatening tears again. He took several deep breaths trying to regain control. It almost felt as if he'd been dying of thirst and only now realized it as a cup of ice-cold water was placed before him.

With this cell phone he could bare his soul again. He could tell Dean of his troubles and successes just as he'd done at home. His brother's advice wasn't always the most sound, but it would feel glorious to be able to talk to someone, to expose his wounds if he needed it. To be himself. To be accepted for whom he was.

Sam opened his mouth ready to let all the frustration, hope, and everything else he'd been through over the last five months pour from his lips. Yet before the first word left him, he snapped his jaws closed.

"Sam?"

He wanted to confide in Dean, wanted desperately to tell him everything. But wasn't that what he'd always done before? How would this prove to himself or anyone else he could do things on his own, that he could survive out here? If he told Dean the truth, chances were he'd drive like a bat out of hell to get out here and try to beat some sense into Mitch or anyone else he felt wasn't treating him right. And that wasn't how the real world worked. You couldn't just let your older brother fix things, no matter how well intentioned. Sam had to learn to do these things for himself, to fight his own battles. He was eighteen, an adult now -- not a little kid. Everything he went through and survived would only make him stronger. He had to deal with things alone.

"Sammy?" The worry was definitely there, maybe even an underlying touch of panic. Though he felt bad for putting it there, it still made him feel better.

"Oh, sorry. Got distracted." He was amazed at how calm and normal he sounded. "They're business majors, Mitch and Brian. Pretty nice guys." One of them anyway…maybe. It felt awkward lying to his brother. He was going through another door he'd always thought would stay closed. He wasn't proud of it, but it couldn't be helped. "The room is small, but not bad. I didn't have any roommates over the summer, so it feels a little cramped now."

Dean laughed. "Yeah like some of the places we've lived in didn't feel like a sardine can." He heard his brother's voice relax. Sam felt relieved and guilty at the same time.

"They have several libraries on campus. They're utterly awesome." This was the unmitigated truth. The facilities at Stanford were everything he'd hoped for and more. "I've even been helping do some background research work for one of the professors on a grant here. He changes his mind a lot, which is a pain, but it's given me access to some of the more restricted stacks, and that's been great."

"Ahhh, book geek talk! My poor ears. Ahhhh!"

Sam half smiled, hearing the amusement in Dean's voice. If he could just stay away from sore subjects on this end, he'd be able to pull this off. For it truly was wonderful to hear his brother's voice again. Like salve for his soul.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"I think we'll be able to bring things to a close tonight, Mr. Montgomery."

Dean stood just behind his father as the latter spoke, the two of them on the stoop of a multi story suburban home. Unlike most jobs, which they put together themselves from seemingly random facts which they would then follow to see if they led anywhere, this one had come to them instead. Pastor Jim had given Mr. Montgomery his father's number, knowing the Winchesters would be able to help. The pastor was more than capable of dealing with a lot of the supernatural on his own, but his parish kept him tied down to a rather restricted area. They didn't have those limitations. Wherever there was trouble, the Winchesters would follow. Hey, that was kind of catchy – it could become the Winchester motto. He'd have to try it out on Sammy. The resounding groans would be well worth it.

"Thank you so much." The short balding man took his father's hand and shook it heartily, standing in the open doorway. "It'll be such a relief to have this done and over with. You and your son are lifesavers."

"It's just what we do, sir." Dean gave him a lopsided grin. When people actually realized what they did and were thankful, nothing could make the job sweeter. Well, okay, a grateful curvy daughter or two would make it even more so, but wasn't likely to happen, so you took what you could get.

Montgomery shook his head as if not able to get his mind around it. "Strange life to lead if you ask me. Is it just the two of you?"

Dean's gaze flicked to his father's face as he held his breath, waiting to see what he would say.

"No, I also have a younger son. His name is Sam."

Dean stared at his Dad surprised. There was no anger, no impatience in the answer, just his father stating calm facts.

"Does he do what you do as well?" Montgomery's curiosity was plain to see, as if secretly excited by what they did. Dean kept his attention centered on his father.

"Not at the moment. He's a student at Stanford University."

Dean's surprise grew. Was that actual pride coating his father's words? When did that happen? He grinned to himself, wondering if this could finally be the beginning of the end -- the one that would lead the three of them to be a family again.

"Nice! I've heard that's a pretty hard school to get into. Wish my son Darryl had the brains for it."

"Sam's always had a thing for books and learning," his father said. "Don't entirely understand the fascination with it myself. But he's giving it his all."

Yeah, pride. That was definitely pride. Dean felt his spirits rising higher than they had in months.

The conversation went on for another couple of minutes before they were finally able to pull away. Dean followed his father to the Impala, trying to figure out the best way to bring up the only thing he'd been able to think about since it jammed itself in his head.

The doors creaked closed, and Dean turned to face his father as the latter started the car. "You, you talked about Sammy!"

His father's brows bunched together as if he didn't understand the statement. "Is there some reason why I shouldn't?"

Dean was flabbergasted. "But before…"

His father turned halfway in his seat to stare at him fully. "Before what?"

Dean shook his head. "Dad, I mean, well, does that, does that mean Sammy can come home?"

His father's face closed up as if he'd drawn a curtain over it. "Has he asked about coming home?"

Dean's hopes suddenly scattered for cover. "No, sir. Not specifically."

His father turned to face the front of the car again. "He left of his own free will. He won't be invited back. He has to _ask_ to come home."

Dean stared at his father wondering if he would ever understand this mess. His father and brother were more stubborn than any human beings had a right to be. It was a miracle they'd ever been a family in the first place. "Dad, if you don't give him a way to think he has a prayer, there's, there's no way he's going to ask."

His father shrugged his shoulders in answer, every line in his body tense. "To believe that is his choice."

Dean pressed his lips together into a thin line to keep from snapping back and run the risk of making things worse. Sooner or later one or the other of them would give, right? _Right_?


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sam sat up in bed, gasping for the air his nightmare stated was no longer his. He shivered, filled with clinging fear, as his gaze darted around the darkened room looking for any evidence the thing stalking him in his dreams might actually be there for real.

He almost jumped out of bed when one of his roommates turned on his side, the springs in the old mattress creaking. The knife he usually hid under his pillow was already primed for throwing in his hand. With a shuddering breath, he forced his hand down and put the blade away again.

A year and a half ago, when he first came here, the old dreams had plagued him almost every night. He knew they'd stemmed from his insecurities, from being in a strange place, but also from the fear that had been his constant companion since childhood. Fear of the things his father and brother found out there in the darkness.

Sam swept his damp hair away from his eyes and rose to his feet. Moving quietly across the room, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

After that first month though, once he got used to the flow of things at school, once he was convinced he wouldn't be expelled as a fraud, the nightmares pretty much vanished. Until Dean started to fill him in regularly on the jobs he and their father were working…

Turning on the light, he avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror and turned on the water at the sink. He dipped his hands into the running water and watched them unseeing.

He'd been denying the truth, telling himself the nightmares and the calls weren't related -- that the gripping feelings of terror welling in him again had nothing to do with the constant reminders of the monsters he'd hoped to leave behind. He no longer felt safe.

Sam cupped his hands and brought the water to his face and leaned into the coolness of it, a soft groan escaping his lips.

The nightmares and fear weren't the only problem though. Not by far. Dean wanted him to come home. He wanted the three of them to be a family again, something Sam wasn't sure was even possible. His father didn't want him. He'd made that more than abundantly clear. Dean said different, but then Dean had never understood. He would never understand. Sam would just never be _good_ enough.

He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. No, never had been, never would be.

The wounds were still there. That was something else Dean didn't get. They were still there and were as fresh as the day he got them. And every time Dean hinted at him coming home for a visit, or to send their father an email, they were punctured and would bleed again and everything would come flooding back -- the anger, the frustration, the pain, _everything_.

He'd so hoped time would make it better. He'd so hoped time and distance would gloss things over, but it wasn't working.

Sam raised his head, his reflected image staring back at him. Fear stared back at him. He was so very tired of it. He wasn't making headway. Not in getting rid of it, not in being normal, not in feeling safe, not in anything. At this rate, he would never belong. Not in his old world or this new one.

He looked away from the mirror. He knew what he had to do. Had known for some time. And he would do it, and it had to be soon. He just wasn't sure if he would survive it.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Dean grabbed a cold beer out of the fridge and walked out onto the porch of the old house. Taking a long swig, he sat down on the steps, enjoying the brew and the decent afternoon breeze. With a feeling of anticipation, he pulled out his cell phone and leaned back against the steps as he quick dialed the familiar number and waited for it to ring.

It was answered on the third one. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dean."

It was always so good to hear his voice – it was like a shot of happiness or well being. It told him his brother was alive, that he was still out there, safe. These calls were like lifelines, letting him know things still had a shot of going back to what they'd been. It was all he had to hold onto after that awful day two years ago.

"So how's school? Worked yourself up to talk to any hot chicks yet?" If he had, Dean wondered if his brother would mind sending him some pics. He took another swig of beer, grinning at the thought.

"It's going fine. Passed my last set of classes for the semester okay."

"What you're telling me is you got all straight A's -- _again_."

There was a hesitation on the other end. Dean never understood that. If he was the one getting straight A's all the time, he'd be hollering to the skies about it.

"I guess."

Dean couldn't help laughing. "You're such a geek." He drank another swallow of beer.

"Am…not…" Sam didn't sound all that sure. That was new.

"Dad and me, we just got back from Missouri this morning. We had to chase down some –"

"_Stop_."

Even over the cell phone, Dean could tell something wasn't right. He sat up straight on the steps, setting the beer down on the porch. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Look…I can't. I can't do this anymore." His voice was hesitant and low.

"Do what, dude?"

Sam was quiet for several seconds. The longer the silence went the more Dean knew he wasn't going to like this.

"I can't have you calling me, badgering me to come back all the time. I can't have you telling me all about the hunts, and the killings, about Dad. I left all that behind me, okay? I don't want to be part of that world anymore."

Dean shoved the phone against his ear until it hurt. Why was his brother saying these things?

"I _never_ wanted to be a part of it. You were born to be part of that life, you're a natural -- I'm not. And I have a chance now, Dean, a chance to make something of myself, to help people in a different way." He heard his brother take a deep breath. "One that doesn't require hunting, killing, living in fear all the time." A heavy pause; like weights being dropped on Dean's shoulders.

"I need for you to let me do this."

His chest grew painfully tight. This was wrong. This almost sounded like a… "Then what the hell would you like me to talk to you about when I call? I didn't think you liked hearing about my conquests. And you hate the movies and shows I like." Anger bubbled up out of nowhere even as it was swallowed by fear. "I suppose you could just text me a list of do's and don't's."

"Don't make this any harder, Dean, _please_." He could hear his brother's pain coming through the phone, but he didn't get it. Why was Sammy _doing_ this? Where was this coming from? "Try to understand. I've never stood on own two feet. Never. You've always been there to catch me, mother me, protect me, and Dad just _smothered_ me. I've no idea if I can survive out here alone. I, I need to do this. On my own. You have to let me. Please, don't call me anymore. I'll, I'll call you when I'm ready."

There was a hot knife twisting in his gut. "When you're _ready_? And when will that be, you bastard?" Dean heard the casing on the phone crack he was gripping it so hard. "You've already been gone for two years. _Two years_! How long does standing on your own take? Or will I have to wait till me and Dad are both dead for you to ever be ready?"

"Dean, I'm begging you! I _have_ to find a way to fit in." His brother sounded desperate. None of this was right. Everything had been going well for him at Stanford, hadn't it? "I have to put my old life behind me. It's the only way _I can do_ _this_. I just need some time… I have to figure this all out. I don't want to hurt you, Dean. I really don't. I'm sorry. Please, please try to understand.

"Good bye." Click.

"Sam? _Sammy_?"

There was only dead air.

Dean hit redial. The phone rang and rang but no one picked up. It wouldn't even go to voice mail.

With a raging scream, he pitched the phone away from him as hard as he could.

The pain, which he'd forcibly held back since the day Sammy left them, washed through him like a fever. The deed was done.

Dean fell to his knees, barely able to breathe. His brother finally cut him away like a diseased limb on a tree. Sammy didn't need him anymore. His brother didn't want to have anything to do with him. A low moan escaped his lips, even as he folded over, his forehead scrapping on the dry ground.

Dean wasn't sure if he could survive without him.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sam hung up feeling like he'd just gouged out a part of himself and then stomped on it for good measure. But he'd needed to do it. Right? Yet it hurt, hurt more than he ever imagined it would.

The cell phone rang and he jumped. It dropped from his hand with a clatter onto the stone bench he was sitting on. He stared at the called ID and saw it was Dean. He looked away, engulfed by guilt, knowing his brother would be confused and aching, and that he was the one responsible for his brother's pain.

He glanced around the secluded park, trying not to cringe each time the phone rang. He'd picked the spot carefully, knowing Dean's usual calling times. He'd wanted their conversation to be private, having finally worked up the nerve to do what he must. He'd stupidly hoped the sweet scent of flowers and greenery surrounding him would help soothe the wounded edges. Perhaps even help salve his guilty conscience. They did nothing of the sort. If anything, what he felt soured everything around him, making it seem false, a façade that could at any moment be blown away and reveal his life for the empty pit it was.

Sam felt a sob hitch up his throat and clamped down on it with all the will he could muster. Someday Dean would understand. Someday he would find a way to make it up to him. Someday… He shoved the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, feeling the tears trying to well up.

This had to stop! Without the constant reminders, he would be able to pretend he was safe. Maybe even become normal. He would be able to make the fear go away. He loved his brother, but he couldn't live like this anymore. He didn't belong in the life his brother led. And unless he cut himself from it, he would never belong here either.

Instead, he would become the failure his father thought he was. But his father was wrong, and he would prove it!

Sam wasn't Dean, he couldn't just blindly do whatever he was told. Their father wasn't God; he wasn't bloody infallible. The way he'd raised them was wrong. But try to tell him that or anything else and…

He shoved up to his feet.

Enough! It was to get rid of feelings like these that he cut his brother off. Dean loved him, Sam knew that. Hell, he loved Dean, too. He'd die for him. But so much of the time at home he'd felt inferior, despite the way his brother always doted and protected him, or perhaps because of it. He didn't need to be treated like that. And now he wouldn't be -- ever again.

His eyes burned.

Right or wrong, he would prove he could stand on his own. There would be no one watching out for him now. No one. He would study harder, try to be more like everyone else, fit in, forget. And maybe, just maybe, someday this new pit of ache and emptiness inside him would go away.

Though somehow…he very much doubted it.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?" The screen door did its nerve scrapping screech and slammed back into the frame. "You've done nothing but mope around the place for the last few days. Did something happen? Are you coming down sick or something?"

Dean felt a flare of anger and resentment at the sound of his father's voice, something which had been occurring with increasing frequency of late. At least it meant he could still feel something, because otherwise all he was was numb.

Sammy was gone. Despite everything he'd tried to do, every angle he'd tried to work on, Sammy was gone. Probably forever. He just hadn't done enough, pushed enough. It was his fault. His and his father's…

"Son?"

Dean plastered a happy go lucky look on his face and glanced back over his shoulder at his father. "I'm okay, Dad. Just been thinking."

"Oh?" His father moved to sit on the steps beside him. It took everything Dean had not to flinch, stomp off, lash out, or something, just to get his father to back away, to pay a little for keeping him trapped here, babysitting him for the last two years to stop him from doing something stupid – time he could have spent at Palo Alto working on Sammy in person, trying to make things right, to eventually bring him home. But now it was too late for that – too late by far.

"What's on your mind then?"

Dean grabbed the demon head pendant hanging at his chest and squeezed hard, using the pain from the sharp edges to help him focus. It was time. "Well, Dad, I was thinking that if you didn't have an issue with it, we might get more done if we started taking separate jobs every once in a while."

He didn't look at his father as he waited for a reaction, having done nothing but rehearse and perfect the pitch for the last two days.

"I see."

Non-committal and emotionless as always. Had his father been this way when Mom was alive? Or was this a by-product of her death? Most of his memories that far back were fuzzy, though there were a few moments that would be crystal clear till the day he died. Like the night his mother died.

Dean almost jumped when his father put a hand on his shoulder. He had been stressing over this so much his whole body ached.

"That's probably not a bad idea. Good thinking."

Dean glanced at him, not sure he'd heard right. His Dad was okay with this? The anger flared again and behind it was an echo of pain. His father had tortured himself almost to death over the son he drove away, worried about the dangers waiting for him out there, but didn't bat an eye about splitting from Dean. Maybe he should feel flattered. Maybe his father actually thought him competent enough to take care of himself out there. And maybe his father and Sam would give in, call each other and apologize, and they'd all get back together again and live happily ever after. Right…

"There's some weird happening down in New Mexico I thought I could go check out." Hadn't he always given everything he had for his father, for their family? He'd always pushed to be the best son he could be, to do everything he was told, to take care of everyone as best he could. But sometimes, he felt like his father wasn't even aware of it, or just took him for granted. Sammy thought Dean was their father's favorite, but he couldn't be farther from the mark. "I thought I'd leave tomorrow, if that was okay."

"Whatever you think best." His father squeezed his shoulder then stood up to go. Dean didn't watch him leave, his fists bunched at his sides.

And every once in a long while, like today, Dean wasn't even sure if their father knew he really existed at all.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Sam straightened up a little in his chair as he sensed someone come into the room. Despite the intervening racks of books and mostly bad lighting, he'd been there so often the place almost seemed to be a part of him, and he knew when something inside it changed.

He kept his gaze on the page of the book he'd been reading but no longer saw the words, his other senses stretching to pick up what information they could about whoever was there.

His heart sped up a little, sensing that whoever it was was moving toward the other end of the room. He refused to get his hopes up, though. If there was something he'd had a plateful of at Stanford, it was disappointment. Scholastically he was on a rocket, and if he pushed it, he was sure he could create some close friendships with several of his professors. But it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was to connect with his peers, not his teachers. That he could always do and had. But making friends with people his own age…it seemed to be beyond him. And he didn't understand it – not at all.

Things were better. He couldn't deny it. The nightmares were pretty much gone, proving he'd been right, though the fact hadn't made him any happier. He desperately missed Dean's voice, his laugh, his _interest_. Sometimes he even missed his father – though he would never admit that out loud, not after the way things were left between them.

Mitch and Brian were gone. If Mitch hadn't been there before, Sam was pretty sure he could have connected with Brian. More than once he'd seemed willing, but Mitch wouldn't have it. And Brian was Mitch's friend not Sam's.

He squirmed in his seat, the whole thing still leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

His second year roommates he'd hardly ever seen. And when he had, they'd pretty much treated him like he didn't exist. Alex and Jeff were better, at least deigning to give him the time of day. They'd come on board in the summer, seemingly because they needed to retake a couple of classes from the spring semester which they'd failed due to having way too much of a good time. Why anyone would come to college and squander it away by getting totally wasted was something else he'd had to add to his list of things he didn't understand.

Jeff had become a lot friendlier right toward the end of summer. He and Alex even suggested they take a class together – art history/appreciation. Sam had to admit he'd really enjoyed the class. Some of their other suggestions though, not so much. Every once in a while they'd drag him off to a bar somewhere and try to get him to mesh and fit in, and while he pretended okay, it just wasn't him. Sometimes he got the feeling that somehow he'd become Jeff's pet project. He still hadn't decided if this was a good thing or not. Though he supposed some kind of progress was better than none. He'd just never expected what he wanted to be this difficult to get.

His gaze bounced to the other small table on the far corner of the room and Sam's heart skipped a beat. He'd been right, it was her. She'd come back again. His cheeks grew unexpectedly warm. Sam quickly forced his attention back to his book.

Unless they were looking for research material, no one ever came to this room. And, if for some reason they did, they definitely never stayed long. The central area outside by the restrooms and vending machines was a much more popular location. But in here it was a lot quieter. There were no expectations. He could just be himself and not worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. He could just concentrate on studying. It was why it'd become one of his favorite places to hang.

This was the fourth time she'd come there. Too far to really see, all he could tell about the girl was that she was blonde with wavy hair. And though he knew nothing about her, after the second time, he'd started to look forward to her showing up. Though they hadn't spoken, not even come close enough to see one another's face, it still felt to him as if they had a connection, as if they were kindred spirits of a sort.

He knew it was a wild fantasy, but fantasy was about all he had left. He was sure that in a week or two she would tire of coming there and that would be that. If they ever even came close enough to speak, it would be a miracle.

Yet despite all that, the illusion of camaraderie, however thin, eased the raging ache in his soul a little all the same.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"My father's feeling better. I think he's going to want us to leave soon." Dean let his hazel gaze roam down Cassie's neckline, appreciating the beauty of her chocolate colored skin and the allure of her neck as it curved into her shoulder. Gently he reached down and caressed it with his lips, keeping the touch feather light.

Cassie gave a contented sigh, relaxing even further in his arms. "You never did say why he was laid up in the first place…"

Her dark hair was soft and full. He ran his fingers slowly through it. He wasn't sure he would ever get tired of doing that. "Work accident." He brought his mouth up close to her ear then used the tip of his tongue to follow the curve around it. He heard her breath deepen.

Cassie half turned her head until their lips met. Dean moaned low in his throat as they shared a taste of each other.

The last two weeks had been a whirlwind. Dean had come with his Dad to Athens, Ohio for what they'd thought would be an easy job. Athens was known as a spirit filled or strange vibes kind of place since before the 1800's, but nothing with any real kind of strength had ever been found there. So not expecting much, they'd come to learn their minor ghost was actually an incredibly powerful vengeful spirit. It had thrown his father bodily down the stairs in the half burned house, which had landed him face first into a puddle of dirty water. They'd been able to take care of the ghost after a lot of chasing and body tracking, but as a parting gift due to the fall, his Dad had strained his back and gotten violently ill from the water he'd accidentally swallowed.

Never a graceful patient even under the best of circumstances, Dean had made sure not to be anywhere near the motel room as much as possible while he recovered.

Their lips parted as Cassie leaned away and Dean held back though he wanted nothing more than to taste her forever. She ran her hand over his chest sending an army of goose bumps chasing each other over his body beneath his shirt.

"You don't really need to go when he does, do you?" Her brown gaze met his.

Dean could lose himself in those eyes. Dive in them and never come back. His gut clenched at the thought. Over the years, he'd been with a lot of women. They gave him physical relief and he made sure they got theirs as well. They had fun, got their engines revved then each went on their own never to see one another again. It was a fun game. Cassie though, Cassie was different.

Not that he'd thought that when the two of them had reached simultaneously for the last cannoli at Mistretta's Italian Market and Deli, a treat he'd been drooling to get his hands on for several days.

He'd seen the same stubborn hunger he was feeling on her face and despite his lower half's registering that she was hotter than hell, his brain was already set on having the damn thing and he wasn't giving it up without a fight. As she straightened up and put her hands on her hips, her lips pursed in a stubborn line, it'd been obvious a fight was what he was going to get.

In the end they'd split the cannoli in half, ten minutes spent measuring the thing to make sure one or the other of them didn't get a bigger piece, then grinning like kids when they finally got to eat it. That grin had grabbed his heart and kept it. And when they started talking, they couldn't stop. The manager kicked them out at closing and one thing had led to another and he'd been coming by to see her every day since.

Dean's heart fluttered, fluttered for Pete's sake! Guy's hearts weren't supposed to do that kind of thing. But hell if he didn't like this woman, maybe even loved her, if he could do such a thing. She was as stubborn as he was if not more, a spitfire in her own right. She did what she wanted, knew her own mind. In just the two weeks they'd been together they must have had a dozen fights. Yet that only helped him like her more. And unexpectedly he found that she helped fill the void losing Sammy had left in him. He knew she could become family. At times it frightened him he could feel this much. "My Dad needs me right now. With being sick and everything, I can't leave him to do the work by himself. But I'd be back. No way you could keep me away."

He hugged her closer, at the moment wanting nothing more than to ravage her and be inside her and never let go.

She laughed, running a hand teasingly over his close cropped hair. "And just exactly what is it that you and your father do? You've never said much about that either."

Dean's ardor suddenly dampened. Here it was, one of those bumps that came up every single time no matter who he was hitting on. He didn't need to be a producer or a talent scout or any of the other glamorous titles he normally used on the bar bunnies though. He didn't have to make himself bigger than life for Cassie. Already he'd concocted a likely occupation, one he and his Dad would share, and would let him seem normal. The prepared lie rose to his lips but before he could say the words, they died there.

He stared into those soulful dark eyes and realized he couldn't lie to her. He couldn't take the chance Cassie would see the falsehood for what it was and plunge him back into emptiness. He didn't want to hide his true self from her. He wanted, needed for her to like him for whom he really was. _All_ that he was.

It scared him to want this. It scared him to the core. He'd only ever exposed his true self to two other people in his life – his brother and his father. What he gave everyone else was a shell, a shield even -- something that kept them from getting too close, kept them at arm's length.

Cassie must have seen something in his face because her brows drew slowly together as she stared at him. Looking away, Dean slid her off his lap, then took her hands in his own.

"Dean?"

He looked up, scanning her face for some idea of what would happen if he told her the truth, and not finding anything there that would help. He could feel perspiration gathering at his temples, his pulse grow fast and unsteady, more nervous at that moment than he'd ever been facing ghosts or other things that went bump in the night.

"Cassie, I want you to keep an open mind." Dean swallowed hard. "Can you do that?"

Her frown grew more pronounced. "What are you talking about?"

He rubbed the back of his neck then dried his wet palm against his jeans before taking her hand again. "It's about what me and my Dad do for a living."

"Okay…"

She was looking at him strangely. He wasn't sure what to make of it. He didn't want to lie to her, but now he wasn't so sure he could actually stammer out the truth. He swallowed hard. "We hunt down and get rid of ghosts."

Several expressions crossed her face at his pronouncement and Dean started to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Cassie suddenly jumped to her feet, snatching her hands from his.

"Dean Winchester, what line of bull are you trying to feed me?"

He hurried to stand up. "What? No. No! I'm not feeding you a line, Cass. It's what we do. Really! It's why we came to Athens in the first place. We had to put a Mrs. Carothers to rest. A mean spirited bitch she was too."

The light went out of Cassie's eyes her face growing hard. She stepped forward and bodily pushed Dean back with her hands on his chest. "Get out."

"But Cassie, I'm telling you the truth!"

She grabbed his leather jacket off the couch and threw it in his face. "I told you to _get the hell out_!"

Dean took a step back, not having the faintest idea what to do. He'd thought her more open minded than this. "Cassie, please! I'm telling you the truth!"

She knelt down beside the couch never taking her raging gaze from him. Reaching a hand underneath, she pulled out a bat. "It just figures, you know? Just my luck." She stood back up, setting the bat on her shoulder, her hands griping the handle down low. "Dean Winchester, you're a friggin' lunatic and I want you out of here. And if you won't go on your own…I'll make you."

"No, Cass. Come on." He put his hands up, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. "You _know_ me! Didn't I ask you to keep an open mind?"

She took a menacing step forward so he had no choice but to take one back. "Open mind, my ass! I know what this about, you unimaginative idiot, and I want you out. _Go, now_!"

He knew her, had faced her stubbornness before, her strength and conviction. She wouldn't hesitate to swing that thing and take his head off with it if she thought it was needed. He took another step back.

The doorknob poked hard into Dean's back. There was nowhere else for him to go. This was all going so terribly, terribly wrong. How could he make her believe him? He locked his gaze with hers and realized there was none. She had closed herself off.

Fumbling, he opened the door behind him.

Cassie rushed at him, and he half tripped moving backwards out into the hallway. Before he could do or say anything, she grabbed the door and yanked it closed.

He stared at the numbered door with numb disbelief. "Cassie, dammit! Give me a chance. Please, you've got to believe me! I suck at it, but I really am trying to be honest with you!"

He jumped back as the bat smacked into the door from the inside.

"If I were you, buster, I'd be scrambling out of here about now. Cause I'm calling the cops on your ass this minute!"

Dean stared at the door, the cold realization that he'd lost her despite the fact he'd tried to do the right thing dawning on him. "Cassie…"

His features felt heavy, his cheeks drooping off his face. For once he hadn't lied and all it got him was thrown out and a door slammed in his face. And just like he'd lost his father for not being good enough, how he'd lost Sammy for not trying hard enough, now he'd lost Cassie as well.

Barely able to get a breath down his constricted throat, Dean turned away from the only light he'd found in the last two plus years and left.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Here you go." The bookstore clerk set the plastic wrapped hat and gown on the counter.

Sam stared at the packages, at the almost blood red material underneath and felt an unwanted chill course down his spine. In a few days there would be hundreds of people wearing these red gowns all over the university, looking like a massive congregation of Satanists preparing for a ritual. He shook his head trying to get rid of the weird image, not quite able to shake a strange feeling of foreboding.

He should be excited, elated to be graduating after four years of study – not thinking doom and gloom, like something out of one Dean's movies. Maybe the looming months of prepping for the LSAT's were making him nervous. Passing those was the next big obstacle in his plans, his future, and failure would leave him adrift, something he very much dreaded.

"Sam? You okay?"

He glanced at Jess, the best and most unexpected thing to happen to him here at Stanford, and smoothed out the frown he could feel shaping his face. "Yeah. Just pre-graduation jitters, I think."

She gave him a small smile, shaking her head. "Your speech will go fine. You've been practicing that thing non-stop for a week, and you were pretty much perfect the first time you read it."

Oh God, how he loved her -- her little knowing smile, the dimples on her cheeks, her lush blonde hair, her full lips, her wit. He loved her so much sometimes it hurt. He didn't understand what she saw in him, why she would waste her time on him, but was forever grateful to God and Heaven that she did. Jess was his bridge, the one that connected his weird life and helped him make sense of the one he lived in now. She'd opened his eyes to so many things, the type of knowledge and wisdom you couldn't find in books. She helped him learn about himself, his strengths and weaknesses.

Sam paid for the rental of the robes, unable to help the smile now brightening his face, and took her hand in his as they made their way out.

The two of them stopped just outside the entrance of the store, the sound of bells echoing loudly. After a moment, Sam was able to place the piece – Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. The concert carillon based in Hoover tower and consisting of forty-eight bells was very conducive to music for piano, the arrangements of the baton-like-keys set to the same pattern. On the Sunday morning of the commencement ceremonies, there would be a carillon performance for the enjoyment of those graduating and their families. It was one of the many things he would have never gotten to experience if he'd not come here.

"Sam…"

He looked down into Jessica's blue-green eyes and watched her gaze roam over him a serious look on her face. He couldn't resist dipping down for a moment to kiss her.

She bit her lower lip when he pulled away, and looking troubled glanced away. "Graduation won't be till this weekend. So…you could still call your brother and father and tell them about it. They'd still have time to make plans and get here."

Sam felt his stomach tighten. This wasn't the first time she'd brought up the subject. He knew she was only thinking of him, but he couldn't get into it now any more than he could before. As desperately as he loved her, there were still things he couldn't tell her – things about himself, how he was raised, how his mother really died. What his father did for a living, the things his family knew, these were all matters that demanded total secrecy. The first rule, one pounded into him since before he could walk, was that they didn't divulge what they knew or did to anyone for any reason. And no matter how deeply he felt about Jessica, it was the one offense he couldn't make himself commit. No matter what his father thought of him, or how ugly they left things, Sam would never betray his family.

Informing Dean and Dad about the upcoming graduation hadn't even occurred to him until she brought it up. For a few short moments the idea had actually excited him, then was drowned out by cold reality. His father had pretty much disinherited him when Sam decided to come here, why the heck would he care that he'd graduated, and with honors to boot? And Dean, Dean would make more of the invitation than it would mean. It'd been almost two years since he told him he couldn't speak to him anymore, but Sam still wasn't finished. He still hadn't been able to put everything behind him that he needed to. That feeling of safety, of not being afraid, he was close, but not yet, not yet. With everything he still had to do, he just couldn't risk it. The dredged up family drama would mess up his head and the only things he had room for right now were graduating and then getting through the LSAT's. After that, after he finished law school…maybe, maybe then he could…

"Jess, I can't. I just can't."

She squeezed his hand then came close, her gaze searching his face again. "I'd just hate for you to come to regret it later. You know?"

He put the arm holding the bag around her, while bringing her clasped hand to his lips. He kissed it gently, trying to siphon all his love for her into that single touch. "I do. But as long as you're her with me, I can't regret anything."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The sunlight burned through Dean's eyelid until he was finally forced to crack open his eye. The room around him was better than most he was used to waking up in and didn't look one lick familiar. That was nothing new though. Nothing had been for a while.

His left arm hung off the end of the bed, feeling like a dead weight. Thinking hard at it, the arm slowly rose and his hand moved to block the sun from his face. A low grunt vibrated in his throat. His tongue sat like a dead weight inside his mouth tasting of cardboard. He tried hard to remember how late he'd stayed out the night before and came up blank.

With another grunt, he forced his head to move. He turned his face the other way and wasn't surprised to see the bed had another occupant. The brunette's sleeping face seemed slightly familiar and the name Sandy, Mandy, Candy echoed somewhere in the depths of consciousness.

He turned back around, dropping his arm back to the floor, the effort of holding it up to block the light more than he wanted to expend at the moment. The horns on the amulet he wore around his neck were digging into his chest but he couldn't summon the energy to do something about it.

Taking a more careful look at the room, he took in the deep blue curtains, the French style of the new looking dresser across the way, and the plush carpet. Destroying the illusion of class were loose pieces of clothing seemingly discarded at random, which hung from the mirror, curtain rod, and were also spread here and there over the floor.

Looked like he'd bagged him one with money this time. Maybe she'd be willing to keep him around as a boy-toy for a day or two.

The thought brought a half smile to his lips. That would be the life.

A rattling buzz up past his head vied for his attention. Dean tilted his head toward the nightstand and spotted his phone. Seems he had a message. Sammy? He squelched the stab in his chest at the thought before it went somewhere it shouldn't. He hadn't heard from his brother in two years, he wouldn't be hearing from him now. And Cassie…well, she wouldn't be calling him if he were the last man on earth. She'd made that perfectly clear.

He was tempted to ignore the phone, to wait until his head quit feeling quite so full of mush before going to the trouble, but reached for it anyway. He almost dropped it off the end of the nightstand, but somehow managed to keep hold of it despite his dented coordination. He flipped the phone open to view the missed calls and had to work to focus his eyes to manage to read the display. It said 'Dad'.

The word was like a jolt to his system, driving him to prop himself up on his elbow. Dean hit the button to recall his messages.

He dragged his body up into a sitting position, keeping the phone close to his ear. A stream of static greeted him first then his father's voice.

"Dean, something's starting to happen. I think it's serious. I need to try to figure out what's going on." The static rose in volume drowning out whatever his father said next then lowered again. "Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. We're all in danger? What the hell was that about? Cryptic much? He hit the speed dial for his father's number. It rang and rang then went to voice mail.

"Dad?" Dean's voice cracked and he was forced to swallow and try again. "Hey, Dad. Got your message. What the hell's going on? There was a lot of static on the line. Call me back?"

He hung up and sat still for a moment, his expression clouded.

"Lover…?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the brunette's exposed breast as she turned over in the sheets. A pity he didn't much remember what they'd done last night. He was sure they had fun. "Sorry." Sandy, Mandy, Candy? "I gotta go. Had a blast."

Dragging himself off the bed, he started scavenging for his clothes so he could get dressed and get the heck out. Something weird was going on.

It took Dean over a day to get the equipment he needed so he could record the voicemail onto something he deemed sensitive enough to pick up the message without adding in too much distortion.

He put the file on a rented computer and tweaked at it for hours with the Goldwave software to filter out and see what might be hidden in the static. Soda cans and empty bags of chips littered the bed he wasn't using, not wanting to leave the room any longer than necessary until he had this worked out.

EVP, or Electronic Voice Phenomena, had been around since possibly the 1920's, and was felt by many to be communications from the dead. Dean knew they were, the family having run into the phenomena too many times before to doubt it. He thought they might have a case of it here.

Dean checked his cell phone for the umpteenth time, still waiting for a call back from his father that never came. He'd left more messages for him in between excursions to the bathroom or snack machines, but got nothing. What had started as a kernel of worry was quickly growing into a whole lot more than that.

He stared at the colored readout of the voice file on the computer screen and hit play.

_I can never go home._

As the female voiced words came out of the speaker, Dean felt his dread shoot into the stratosphere. The five words rang in places in his soul he'd forbidden himself from going to a long time ago. Home was a place he and his could never go back to. A place defiled by his mother's murderer. Dean long ago promised himself he would never return to Lawrence, Kansas ever again. That awful night would be ingrained into his skull until he died. The mere thought of making such a journey broke him out in a sweat.

He pushed the unrelated thoughts aside, knowing his home couldn't be what the ghost's message was about. It was time to get serious.

He dredged up in his mind as much info on the dossier his father had shown him before leaving almost three weeks ago that he could remember then set out to reconstruct it. Sometime later, he stared at the news reports of a disappearance about a month ago, the one which had originally twitched his father's interest. Going back through the records, he found the same things his father had, that there had been people disappearing from a particular stretch of road near Jericho, California for almost twenty years.

It appeared like a simple enough job. What the hell could have gone wrong?

Dean stared at the screen trying to weigh his options. He called up Google maps. Jericho was almost parallel to San Francisco going in toward Nevada. As he looked at the major roads in the area of the state, his gaze ran across US 101.

Without meaning to, he followed the road until it crossed with Palo Alto. Stanford University. Sammy.

The horrid familiar emptiness hit him like a punch in gut. Sammy. Aside from that fleeting glimpse three and a half years ago, he'd not laid eyes on his brother since his father drove him away. He'd not even heard his voice for the last two. And now Dad was missing. Dean was alone, utterly, and completely alone.

He stared at the screen, trying not to give in to the clawing despair.

His eyes slowly grew wide as a thought struck him. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be alone after all.

It would be a gamble, and there'd be no guarantees. But what else did he have to lose?

Dean printed out instructions on how to get to Jericho from his location, adding in more instructions for directions for a slight detour he would make along the way. Fate had given him a gift, and he meant to use it. And if life had any kindness left in it at all, maybe he would be able to make some roads meet up again.

The End


End file.
